He added a few quick lines, and soon they had tears streaming down their faces, hands positioned like they were begging for forgiveness, then handed the note back to me.
“It’s a realistic depiction. You have muscles for days,” Rhett argued, his shoulder pressing against mine as he continued sketching details on the tiny firefighter. “Besides, how else is she supposed to know it’s us?”
“The puppy dog eyes on the guy on the left give it away,” I said, hyperaware of the heat radiating from his body, the scent of his soap mixing with coffee on his breath. We were standing closer than necessary, my brain helpfully pointed out. I could step back, create some space between us, but I didn’t.
“Think this will work?”
“Worth a shot,” I replied, my voice coming out rougher than intended. I cleared my throat. “Worst she can do is ignore us.”
“Or file a restraining order,” Rhett joked, folding the note in half.
“Let’s aim for forgiveness and avoid legal action,” I suggested, opening our apartment door and checking that the hallway was clear. “Coast is clear. Operation Apology is a go.”
Rhett crouched down in front of Aimee’s door, sliding the folded note underneath with the gentle precision of someone disarming a bomb. And it wasn’t my fault I glanced at his ass as he was bent over; it was just where my eyes naturally went. I shoved my hands in my pockets, making sure he couldn’t see my body’s reaction.
He stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Mission accomplished.”
“Now we wait,” I said, shouldering my bag again and heading for the elevator. “And hope she doesn’t feed our note to a paper shredder.”
“Even if she does, I bet it’ll make her smile,” Rhett said, falling into step beside me. “Especially my cartoon.”
Chapter 4
Aimee
Allweek,notesappearedunder my door at random times of the day. They were little paper messages that I really didn’t want to find charming. Each one featured ridiculous cartoon firefighters with bulging muscles and earnest smiles, offering to fix this or carry that or run some errand I’d mentioned needing to do.
Today’s note was no different, slipped under my door sometime during my morning shower: a sketch of two buff cartoon figures hauling comically oversized packages to a mailbox, offering to do a post office run.
I stared at the note, coffee mug halfway to my lips. How did they know I needed to mail packages? I hadn’t mentioned it to them. Sure, I’d talked about it on Tuesday’s podcast episode, but that hadn’t even been published until—
My stomach dropped. Were they listening to my podcast? The podcast where I’d spent the last three episodes discussing my frustrating dry spell? The podcast where, just last week, I’d answered a listener question about firefighter fantasies and may have used my neighbors as extremely detailed examples?
Oh god. I set my coffee down with a thud, sloshing hot liquid over my fingers. They were listening to my podcast?
I marched across the hall in my fuzzy slippers, note clutched in my hand, and rapped my knuckles against their door with more force than necessary. The response was immediate—like someone had been standing right there waiting. The door swung open to reveal Rhett, his hair still damp from a shower, a flush creeping up his neck.
“Hey, Aimee! What’s up?” Rhett looked down at the note in my hand and clapped, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Did you need us for something? We’re ready to help. In a very non-intrusive way, of course.”
A throat cleared behind Rhett, and he stepped back, revealing Troy leaning against their kitchen counter, sipping from a protein shake. He gave me a little two-finger salute, his dark eyes tracking my movements as I stepped inside.
“Are you guys stalking me via my podcast?” I asked bluntly.
Troy choked mid-sip, coughing as he set down his shake. Then he stepped forward and whacked Rhett upside the head.
“Ow! What the fuck?” Rhett yelped, rubbing the spot.
“You said she wouldn’t figure it out!” Troy accused.
“We’re not stalking,” Rhett protested, turning those puppy dog eyes on me. “We’re fans!”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Fans.”
“Enthusiastic listeners,” Troy amended, moving closer. “It’s the new favorite at the firehouse. There’s a whole bunch of guys betting on whether you’re as hot as you sound.”
Heat flooded my face. “Excuse me?”
“Not in a gross way,” Rhett hurried to add. “Your voice is really… it’s nice.”
